


Underoxygenate

by TTMIYH



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, F/M, M/M, Nonbinary Roxy Lalonde, Other, Restraints, Superpower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TTMIYH/pseuds/TTMIYH
Summary: If your boyfriend has aerokinetic abilities, and you have a breathplay kink, step two is obviously question marks, and step three? Profit. Pure profit.
Relationships: John Egbert/Roxy Lalonde
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Underoxygenate

Roxy was handsomeness in night sky blue, and all it entailed; a constellation of shocking pink sticking out of the quiet evening. John couldn't help but stare, despite prior warnings to not look at stellar bodies,as there was something deeply magnetic about it all. You could go so far as to say it was a pair of pink pulsars pressed perilously, precariously proximate to John's peepers. They leaned in and kissed John on the nose, and his face grew hot with flushed stellar heat. 

Then, John leaned back a couple of inches, and Roxy's ability to continue kissing him was suddenly inhibited by the presence of straps encasing his limbs in the most restrictive of hugs. One of the understated benefits of having a partner capable of conjuring anything from the aether is that the partner is just as easily capable of conjuring sex toys from the aether as they are delicious gourd products. On the other hand, Roxy was distinctly aware that autoasphyxia was a one way ticket to an embarrassing God Tier revival -- and no, they're not speaking from experience, thank-you-very-much.

So, what Roxy had in utility they lacked in the ability to perform very specific tasks, particularly those that involved certain esoteric fetishes of their own. Sure, anyone else could just up and strangle them ( _Not_ choke! Choking was internal, strangle was external, they brought up fairly frequently), and they would welcome that given it was consensual, but... Well, Roxy wasn't really _dating_ anyone else, and was it cheating if you played with another person but didn't actually let them shove their parts against your part? An ethical quandary for sure, and not one Roxy was willing to puzzle out at the moment.

And, well... If the shoe fit!

Roxy's wrists struggled pleasantly bound against the restraints, with just enough give that they could wiggle and shift and even try to buckle their knees in a little, only to inevitably fail due to the additional restraints on their ankles. If your boyfriend has aerokinetic abilities, and you have a breathplay kink, step two is obviously question marks, and step three? Profit. Pure profit. Dark blue boxers, admittedly, already a bit damp with excitement. Roxy had always been easy to please.

"Johnnnnn..." Roxy groaned, shaking in their restraints, rocking back and forth, his hips occasionally presenting his crotch into the air like a dog attempting to hump a couch with no ability to aim and also upside down. "Stop teasing me! Get your tuchus over here, STAT!"

John immediately stumbled over his half-off boxers and fell. No amount of godly power would prevent him from being the cutest klutz in all of Paradox Space. Thankfully, he stuck the landing, face landing firmly against Roxy's crotch in which would've been a hilariously contrived setup if Roxy wasn't partially certain that John had kind-of-sort-of planned it. Or, at the bare minimum improvised extremely well. John's fingers were calloused at the tips but surprisingly smooth otherwise, post-puberty treating him extremely kindly with a thick layer of shag carpeting across his everywhere -- that was the Jake English genes, Roxy had always guessed. "I thought that, what's it, bottoms? Are less interested about the tuchii of other people and more concerned about their own tuchuses. Right? That's what you said, right?"

Like most Egbert-isms, the line between jokingness and genuine question had blurred a bit at some point mid-sentence, but that was okay. Roxy was never afraid to help lead the way, even if she couldn't reach down to pull John a little further up on their body. Instead, they just wiggled a little closer, rolling themselves in waves to try and coax John closer. "John, babe, honey, darling, breath in my lungs, I am _always_ concerned about your tuchus status, top or bottom."

Roxy was quite dissimilar to John in pretty much every way that mattered. Bottle white on blonde to John's natural, lustrous brown hair. A small treasure trail traveling upwards from Roxy's pelvis to a small, studded navel. Pink, of course, because Roxy always thought pink was in vogue, regardless of presentation otherwise. Roxy was short and slim, albeit wide-hipped, in comparison to John's absolute beefcake status of muscle, fat, and masculinity (although a steady diet of actual food had helped alleviate some of Roxy's malnourishment issues). And, not least of all, Roxy was _severely_ kinky, and John was perhaps the most vanilla person they had ever met. Even breaking out the fuzzy handcuffs had taken weeks of convincing.

But then John climbed all the way on top of Roxy, positioning himself right up against them, curling over them like a warm, furry cave (or, less gross, like a warm, furry blanket-, actually, never mind), and any regrets or thoughts, even the most minuscule, just vanished into thin air. Leaning on one elbow, John let his other hand gently ride up Roxy's side. Even the lightest of touches drove Roxy absolutely berserk, causing them to thrash about and spasm. John had been taught well. By one of the best, really. John knew most of Roxy's weak points at this point, outside of this hidden stuff on the edge of extremity... So when John's fingers slipped _just_ beneath Roxy's waistband, not even an inch under, more a couple of millimeters, Roxy had to buck up against him with enough force that, were they not bound, would've probably resulted in immediate cock impalement.

With said restraints, all Roxy could do was mewl uselessly, laughing at their predicament, nervous in all the best ways. John leaned in on his other elbow further. John bent back in and kissed Roxy on the nose, and this time it was their turn to blush, flushing constellations of freckles with lust and joy. Roxy began baring their neck. "C'mon. Johnny boy. Do it. Do it."

John's hesitancy lasted only a moment. His hand rose from Roxy's hips, ghosting up their side, their chest, their underarms, all the way to Roxy's neck, slender enough that one hand was really all John needed. "On the sides, right?" He asked, nervousness clear as day, putting on more than a brave face for Roxy (even if his dick belied his underlying appreciation for what was going on).

"Pleazzze do not crush my windpipe, John. I don't vibe with that." Roxy reaffirmed. John gave them the most sincere, heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching, crotch-wrenching smile, and pressed down.

The secret to good breathplay, Roxy knew, was that "breathplay" was in some regards a misnomer. Roxy, with all his anatomical knowledge from years of suturing himself up and reading Rose's old books, knew that cutting off blood flow to the head was an excellent way to induce a sense of tingly lightheadedness. It was less about preventing someone from breathing, and more about restricting their brain's blood intake, much in the way that John's MEAT STICKS were doing at that very moment! 

Roxy's vision began to blur, tickle, and tingle at the edges, small sparks appearing in their vision. They nodded with their eyes, drinking in all of John while they were still conscious, and then--

 _Taptaptap_. _Thumpthumpthump_.

Three thumps and it was over. When John let go, Roxy couldn't help but instinctively suck in air like they'd never get the opportunity to do so again, gulping down that delightful ambrosia. Their eyes rolled up a little bit and their hips bucked, just once. "Everything okay, Roxy?" John asked. So attentive and caring. Maybe in a couple of months Roxy could work him up to the point where they'd be able to get a nice set of squeeze bruises around their neck.

" _Please_." Roxy pleaded. It was all the motivation John needed. Keep going. _Please_.

John bent back down and kissed Roxy square on the lips. It started chaste, as it almost always did, just lips to lips, small, unobtrusive motions, and then widening ever bigger. John pressed himself down into Roxy and Roxy tried their best to press themselves back up into John, wanting so bad to just lock their legs around his hips and fuck his brains out. But before they could consider that idea much more, John's mouth vacuum-sealed to Roxy's, and then John started pulling away from the kiss.

John sat up, pressing the sides of his knees into Roxy's ribs, and reached down to apply just enough pressure with his fingertips to Roxy's neck to satisfy. More than that, though, was the very directed low-pressure zone in John's mouth. A small, perfectly climate controlled tunnel of warm air, _sucking_ everything from Roxy's lungs. Roxy's legs shook and their eyes immediately rolled back up, eyelids starting to flutter.

This was more than just being strangled out. Roxy's heart was beating so fast they were afraid, for a scant fraction of a second, that it might actually burst. Then, the fraction of a second passed, and Roxy just continued to shake and rock, their limbs straining against their restraints. As consciousness slipped away, Roxy's skin felt absurdly hypersensitive, the sparkling, fragile sensation of their mind blanking out beginning to spread outward into the rest of their body. They could feel John right on top of him, and nothing else. John's dick, just... Laying there.

Roxy wanted nothing more than that and then maybe also passing out. John clamped his teeth shut with an audible click, and the tunnel disappeared, the remaining breath slingshotting back into Roxy's lungs. Roxy slammed against the bed with a start, starting to thrash about under John as they came to the barest edge of orgasm. Then,

 _Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump_ Roxy's hands shot out a ra-tat-tat drum fill on the bedsheets as they slammed out their safegesture, tapping out. This was good, this was so good, this was so fucking good and John backed away and remembered to remove his mitts from Roxy's neck. Already, Roxy could feel a semi-familiar blooming warmth starting to spread out under their skin. "Holy fuck. Holy shit. Holy fuck."

Roxy's lungs burnt, they stretched and pumped inside of them, their mouth needily gulping down air like it was water and they were a nonbinary person stuck in a desert. Their skin was hot and slick with a rather quickly developing, if fine, layer of sweat. Roxy gasped and gasped, bucking back and forth like a dying fish... But, you know. A sexy dying fish. The sexiest dying fish, in fact.

John always looked so proud when he made Roxy cum. Roxy, on the other hand, looked disheveled, to say the least. "Did I do well?" John asked, quietly.

"John, if you don't suck all the air out of my lungs again in the next minute you are _not_ getting any tonight."

John smiled, took a deep breath, and bent back down to kiss Roxy.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments, kudos, bookmarks, and views are seen, noted, and greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading.
> 
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